'Aftercare' by Jesse Bradley

By -
Our mom won’t stop filling the glass shed we put her in. She keeps trying to make herself denser so she can crack one of the glass panes, escape bit by bit but the glass holds. Mitch and me don’t have to worry about feeding her, but we still have to talk to her to keep her sane. Mom asks us: when am I getting out? Mitch says what I’m thinking: when you stop being a threat to to everyone. We came out to the shed wearing our containment suits just in case the glass does crack and she tries to melt enough of our skin off to make us think twice about locking her away. At night, we see a wisp of green in the glass shed. We’ve seen this color and volume from her before when she’s sleeping. Mitch asks me: what do you think she’s dreaming about? Probably of her old body, the one that gathered wrinkles, had arms that held us, a mouth to seal our wounds, her husband still alive and not the stain she accidentally turned him into.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

‘Honey’ by Patricia Quintana Bidar

By -
I knew a man who owned 150 items. One hundred of them were books. He was extremely specific about this number. Two plates, two bowls, one pot, one pan. One squeeze bottle of liquid soap he used for the counters, the clothes, his remaining hair. One Bobby Goldsboro record, but no turntable. He said one of the songs, Honey, had always moved him.

When his dog passed away, he replaced it. A plant; why didn’t I say plant? Although it is true about his dog.

I had the idea he was spiritual and wise. He was old. His sparseness was a turn-on. And the red rug on the floor beside his bed, so pleasing. I pleased him when I knelt on it. His framed, black-inked Eye of Horus lent the place a tang of the mystic.

It lasted seven weeks. One evening, I thought I’d pitch in and empty the garbage. He was out, walking the replacement dog. The bag was surprisingly full. I clocked the contents: the detritus of fast food wolfed when I was at work, eight squishy condoms (curtsy), and much-thumbed porn mag feat…
Read more

FlashFlood Advent Calendar 2018: Day 1

By -
Image
Day 1: Beginnings and Endings
Welcome to the FlashFlood Advent Calendar!  Today we bring you the first of twenty-five days of flashy prompts, so it's fitting that we're thinking about beginnings....

*

You know those amazing first lines, the ones that grab you by the throat and don't let go of you until you've read the rest of the story (and even then they linger)?  Things like:

“The road is covered in ghost.”—Jane Monson, 'The Unmended',Speaking Without Tongues“Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared.” —Sandra Cisneros, 'Those Who Don't', The House on Mango Street“Peony has whiskers; she has a pointy face and a tail made out of blue raffia; she's messing about in boats and dabbling-up-tails-all, and I am in love.” —C.G. Menon, 'Watermelon Seeds',Love Across A Broken Map: Short Stories from The Whole Kahani“To lift yourself out of a miserable mood, even if you have to do it by strength of will, should be eas…
Read more

'Island' by Elizabeth Geoghegan

By -
Bhīma navigates the narrow roads and unseen turns—past the one for Devi’s place—and on down by Kopi Desa. Stone deities lining the dark road. Animal eyes glimmering. We turn off where the road ends and the path begins, parking in a corrugated metal shed. I lug my pack out of the back of the Jeep and wait beside a moss-covered altar. Smell of damp all around me. He swaps car for scooter, wedging my pack in front of him. I climb on behind, longing to wrap my arms around him, clutching the cold metal seat handles instead. Careful not to lean too close. The path is narrow and full of ruts, long vines dangle in streams, skimming over us as the hill rushes to meet the ravine, my body falling against his when the tires skid in the mud and we nearly topple over. He guns it and I am lurched backward as we continue up and out. It isn’t far now. Soon the dense trees give way to irrigation ditches and flooded fields, and I can see low clouds rushing over a sideways moon. I’d forgotten how it hang…
Read more